Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5) Read online

  She’s eyeing me like she’s about to punch me, but I can’t stop staring at her mouth, hoping she insults me again. Somewhere between being called an asshole and this moment, I’ve become more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m hoping she’s about to storm off to her bedroom because I’ve already met my quota for restraint when it comes to her.

  She licks her bottom lip, and I have to grip the couch cushion to keep myself from attacking that mouth. Her eyes are focused intensely on mine, and we’re both breathing so heavily from our verbal attacks, I can taste her breath on my lips.

  “I hate you,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “I hated you first,” I hiss back.

  Her focus falls on my mouth and as soon as I see the tiniest flash of desire in her eyes, I lunge forward. I grab her face and press my lips to hers as I shove her back against the couch. She’s pushing me away with her knees while pulling me to her with her hands. My tongue forces through the barrier of her lips and she devours me in response. I kiss her hard, and she kisses me even harder. I’m pulling at a fistful of her hair while she scratches down my neck with her fingernails. Fuck, it hurts. She hurts.

  I want more.

  I’m hovering over her and then pressing myself against her, pulling her knee up so she can wrap it around my waist. Her hands are in my hair, and I don’t want her to move out. I want her to stay. I want her to be my roommate forever. She’s the best fucking roommate I’ve ever had and my God, she’s so nice. How did I ever think she was mean? She’s so, so sweet, and her lips are sweet and Bridgette, I love your name.

  “Bridgette,” I whisper, wanting to say her name out loud. I don’t know how I hated her name before this moment, because it’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever said out loud.

  I pull away from her mouth and begin working my way down her sweet, sweet neck. As soon as I make it to her shoulder, she begins to push me away with her hands.

  Just like that, I snap back to reality and separate from her willingly.

  I move to the other end of the couch, needing the space to wrap my head around what the hell just happened?

  She quickly sits up on the couch. She wipes her mouth and I run my hands through my hair, doing whatever I can to process this.

  She’s an evil vixen. I close my eyes and squeeze my forehead, trying to figure out how I just lost complete control of myself simply because I was kissing her. I think of all the lies that were just passing through my head as my dick tried to convince me she was actually a decent person.

  I’m weak. I’m so weak, and she just gained the upper hand again.

  “Don’t do that again,” she says, angry and breathless.

  Her voice makes me wince. “You started it,” I say defensively.

  Did she? I can’t remember. It might have been mutual.

  “You kiss like you’re trying to resuscitate a dead cat,” she says, disgusted.

  “You kiss like you are a dead cat.”

  She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She looks extremely uncomfortable in the silence, so it doesn’t surprise me when she spits out another insult. “You probably fuck like a limp noodle.”

  “I fuck like I’m Thor.”

  I’m not looking at her, but I know that comment had to make her smile. If she’s even capable of smiling. The silence grows heavier and neither of us moves, making it even more apparent that what just happened was a mistake.

  “Why do you taste like onions?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I just ate pizza.”

  She glances into the kitchen. “Is there any left?”

  I nod. “It’s in the fridge.”

  She immediately stands up to walk to the kitchen, and I hate that I’m staring at her shirt. I can see her nipples poking through the thin fabric, and I want to point at her and say, “I did that! That’s all me!”

  Instead, I close my eyes and try to think about whatever will stop my wanting to follow her into that kitchen and bend her over the counter. Luckily, Ridge’s bedroom door opens, so I give my full attention to him as he walks into the living room. He pauses when he sees me sitting on the couch. He glances at the TV that isn’t even on. “Why do you look so guilty?”

  I shake my head shamefully. “I think I just made out with Bridgette,” I sign.

  Ridge looks at Bridgette, who is standing in the kitchen with her back to us. He shakes his head in disappointment. Or confusion.

  “Why?” he asks, perplexed. “Did she do it willingly?”

  I grab one of the couch pillows and throw it at him. “Yes, she did it willingly, asshole. She wants me.”

  “Do you want her?” He seems genuinely shocked, like he didn’t see this coming at all.

  I shake my head. “No I don’t want her,” I sign. “But I feel like I need her. So bad. She’s so . . .” I pause my hands for a few seconds before continuing. “She’s the best worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Ridge backs up until his hand is on the front door. “I’m going to Maggie’s for the night,” he signs. “We’ll pray for you.”

  I flip him off as he makes his way out. When I turn back to face Bridgette, she’s walking toward her bedroom. She passes the TV and doesn’t even have the audacity to plug it back in.

  I plug in the TV, because there isn’t a doubt in my mind now. I have to find that porno, because after experiencing that kiss, I’m addicted. Addicted to all things Bridgette.

  • • •

  I barely slept last night. Being in the same apartment with her, knowing Ridge and Brennan were both gone, was too much. It took all I had not to make an excuse to knock on her bedroom door. But I’m learning how her mind works, and I know she’d turn me down in a heartbeat just to stay in control.

  And now, Ridge and Brennan are both still gone and she’s at work and I’ve exhausted all the porn on pay-per-view. I can’t keep track of how much porn I’ve watched in the past two weeks. It’s ridiculous. How many could there possibly be? And I’ve narrowed it down to the ones that have been recorded in the last few years, because she had to be over eighteen when she filmed it. She’s twenty-two now, so that’s four years of porn films to sift through.

  Oh, my God. I’m obsessed.

  I’m like a stalker.

  I am a stalker.

  The front door swings open and Bridgette walks in. She slams it shut so hard, I flinch. She walks to the kitchen and begins opening cabinets and banging them shut. She finally rests her palms on the bar and looks straight at me. “Where the hell do you keep the alcohol?”

  Bad day, I guess.

  I stand up and walk over to the sink. I open the cabinet beneath it and take out the bottle of Pine-Sol. I don’t even bother grabbing her a glass. She looks like the type who can take a good swig.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” she asks, staring at the bottle in my hands.

  I push it into her hand. “Ridge thinks he’s clever by hiding it in old cleaner bottles. He doesn’t like it when I drink all his alcohol.”

  She brings the bottle to her nose and winces. “Is whiskey the only thing you have?”

  I nod. She shrugs and brings the bottle to her lips, tilts her head back, and takes a long swig.

  She hands the bottle back to me as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I take a sip from the bottle myself and then hand it back to her. We do this several times until her anger seems to have subsided, as much as anger can subside in Bridgette’s world. I put the top back on the bottle and return it to the cabinet.

  “Bad day?” I ask.

  She leans against the counter and pulls at the elastic of her orange shorts. “The worst.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She looks up at me through her lashes and then rolls her eyes. “No,” she says flatly.

  I don’t push it.
I don’t even know that I really want to know about her day. Anything and everything seems to set her off, so she’s probably pissed over something stupid, like a red light on her way home. It has to be exhausting to respond to all aspects of life with so much anger.

  “Why are you always so mad?”

  She laughs under her breath. “That’s easy,” she says. “Assholes, stupid customers, a shitty job, worthless parents, crappy friends, bad weather, annoying roommates who don’t know how to kiss.”

  I laugh at the last comment, which I’m sure was supposed to be a dig, but it felt more like an underhanded flirt.

  “How are you so happy all the time?” she asks. “You think everything is funny.”

  “That’s easy,” I say. “Great parents, being lucky enough to have a job, loyal friends, sunny days, and roommates who starred in porn films.”

  She glances away quickly in an attempt to hide a smile that almost appeared on her face. God, I wish she would let that smile out, because I’m dying to see what it looks like. As long as she’s lived here, I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen her smile.

  “Is that why you watch so much porn? Because you’re hoping to find out which one I was in?”

  I don’t nod, but I don’t shake my head, either. I lean my hip into the counter and fold my arms over my chest. “Just tell me the name of it.”

  “No,” she says quickly. “Besides, I was just an extra. I didn’t even really do anything.”

  An extra. That helps narrow down my search a little.

  “Didn’t really do anything doesn’t mean didn’t.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s still standing here, so I keep going. “Were you naked?”

  “It was a porn, Warren. I wasn’t wearing a sweater.”

  That means yes.

  “Did you have sex on camera?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “But you made out with a guy?”

  She shakes her head again. “Wasn’t a guy.”

  Holy fuck.

  I turn around and grip the bar with one hand while making the form of a cross over my body with the other. When I turn back around, she’s still standing in the same spot, but she actually looks relaxed. She should drink whiskey every day.

  “So you’re telling me you made out with another girl? And it’s documented somewhere? On film?”

  The corner of her mouth curls up into a ghostly smile.

  “You smiled.”

  She stops smiling immediately. “I did not.”

  I take a step toward her and nod my head. “Yes, you did. I made you smile.”

  She begins to shake her head in disagreement, so I slip my hand behind her neck. Her eyes widen, and I’m almost positive she’s about to push me away, but I can’t help it. That smile.

  “You did smile, Bridgette,” I whisper. “And you need to own it, because it was fucking beautiful.”

  She gasps in shock right before my lips crash against hers. I don’t think she was expecting this kiss to happen, but she certainly isn’t objecting. Her mouth is warm and responsive and when I part her lips with my tongue, she actually lets me.

  I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or her, but my heart is thrashing around in my chest like a caged beast. I slide my hands down her back until they meet her ass and I squeeze as I pick her up and set her back down on the bar.

  Our lips separate, and we stare at each other silently, each of us hesitant to believe that the other isn’t about to walk away again. When I realize that neither of us seems to want to stop this, I bring my hands up to her cheeks and lean in again, taking her lips between mine.

  This is different from our kiss the other night. Our first kiss was quick and frantic, because we knew that’s where it would end.

  This one is slow and deep, and feels like it’s just the beginning of what we’re about to experience tonight. This time when I leave her mouth to taste her neck, she doesn’t push me away. She pulls me closer, wanting me to kiss her harder.

  “Warren,” she whispers, tilting her neck to the side, allowing me free rein of her skin. “If I have sex with you, you have to promise you won’t get clingy afterward.”

  I laugh, but I don’t move away from her neck. “If you have sex with me, Bridgette, you’re the one in danger of becoming clingy. You’ll want so much more of me, I won’t be able to tell the difference between you and Saran Wrap.”

  She laughs, and I pull away from her. I look down at her mouth and then into her eyes. “My God.”

  She shakes her head, confused. “What?”

  “Your laugh.” I kiss her on the lips. “Fucking phenomenal,” I whisper into her mouth. I lift her off the counter and keep her wrapped around me as I make my way across the living room. As soon as we’re in my bedroom, I close the door and push her against it. I keep her pressed against the door with my body while I remove my shirt. I find the hem of her shirt and begin to pull it over her head. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about this, Bridgette.”

  She helps me pull her shirt over her head. “I haven’t fantasized about it at all,” she says.

  I smile. “Bullshit.”

  I lift her again and carry her to the bed. As soon as I lay her on it and begin to crawl on top of her, she pushes my shoulders and shoves me onto my back. Her hands meet the button on my jeans and she undoes them. I attempt to take control again by pushing her onto her back, but she’s not having it. She straddles me and places her hands on my biceps, pushing my arms against the bed. “I make the calls,” she says.

  I don’t argue. If she wants to be in charge, I’ll absolutely let her.

  She sits up straight and brings her hands around to her back to undo her bra. I lift up and begin to reach around to assist her, but her hands are back on my arms in a flash. She pushes me to the mattress again. “What did I just say, Warren?”

  Holy shit. She’s not kidding.

  I nod and focus my attention back to her bra as she lifts up and unfastens it. She slides the straps slowly down her arms and I can’t keep my eyes off her. I want to touch her, to help her, to be the one to remove her bra, but she’s not allowing me to do anything.

  My breath catches in my chest when she flings the bra away.

  My God, she’s perfect. Her breasts are the perfect size, appearing as if they would fit right in the palms of my hands. But I wouldn’t know, because I’m not allowed to touch them.

  Am I?

  I hesitantly lift my hands to feel the softness of her skin, but she immediately shoves my arms away from her, back to the bed.

  God, it’s torture. Her breasts are right here, inches from me, and I can’t even touch them.

  “Where are your condoms?”

  I point to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. She slides off of me and I watch her closely as she walks to my nightstand. She opens the drawer and sifts around until she finds one. She puts it between her teeth as she walks back toward the foot of the bed. She doesn’t climb back on top of me. Instead, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and begins to shimmy out of them.

  I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and I can feel my pulse throbbing throughout my whole body. She needs to hurry the hell up and climb back on top of me.

  She leaves her panties on as she bends over and begins to pull my jeans the rest of the way off. She hooks her hands in my underwear and pulls them down as well, the condom wrapper still dangling between her teeth. Her hair is the perfect length, trailing lightly over my skin like feathers every time she leans over me.

  Once all my clothes are off, her eyes focus on the hardest part of me. A smile tugs at her lips and her eyes meet mine. She pulls the condom out of her mouth.

  “Impressive,” she says. “This definitely explains your inflated ego.”

  I take the insult with the compli
ment, because I already know Bridgette isn’t the type to dish them out.

  She straddles me again, still wearing her panties. She leans forward and presses her palms into my forearms. Her mouth meets mine, and her breasts press against my chest, causing me to groan. She feels incredible. So good. I’m worried now, because we haven’t even had sex yet and I can already tell I’m ruined.

  I can feel her wetness through her panties as she torturously slides up and down, up and down, as slow as she possibly can. Her tongue is in my mouth, and I keep trying to grab the back of her head, or grip her by the waist, but every time I move, she stops me.

  I imagined she would be bossy in the bedroom, but nothing like this. She won’t even let me touch her, and it’s fucking killing me.

  “Open your mouth,” she whispers into my ear. I do, and she places the condom wrapper between my teeth. I bite down on it and she uses her own teeth to grip the other end of it as she pulls away from me, tearing the wrapper open between both our mouths.

  Okay, that was hot.

  So hot.

  We should quit our jobs and do this full-time.

  She pulls out the condom and sits straight up. She looks down and licks her lips as she slides the condom over me and I moan, because her hands are fuck. They’re too much. I want them everywhere.

  I understand how guys can say stupid shit in the throes of passion, because I want to say so much to her right now. I want to tell her I love her and that we’re soul mates and that she should marry me, because her hands make me think stupid, stupid, untrue thoughts like this.

  She lifts up higher on her knees and pulls her panties to the side, leaving them on as she begins to lower herself on top of me.

  It’s official. She’s the best roommate I’ve ever had in my life.

  She winces slightly when she begins to take me inside of her, and I feel kind of bad that it hurts her. But not bad enough to stop myself from lifting my hips and sliding into her the rest of the way.

  As soon as we’re flush together, we moan in unison.

  I’ve never felt anything like it.

  It’s as if her body contours perfectly to mine, fitting every line and curve and dip. Neither of us moves an inch while we fill the room with heavy gasps, giving ourselves a moment to adjust to the sheer perfection we just created.